Marion's Faith Part 15

"Ah, go to your grandmother, the ould witch in h.e.l.l, ye musthard-sthriped convict!" sings out some irrepressible Paddy in reply, and Wayne, who is disposed to serious thoughts, would order silence, but it occurs to him that Mulligan's crude sallies have a tendency to keep the men lively.

"I can't believe they've got him," he whispers to the doctor. "If they had they would soon recognize him as an officer and come bawling out their triumph at bagging a chief. His watch, his shoes, his spurs, his underclothing, would all betray that he was an officer, though he hasn't a vestige of uniform. Pray G.o.d he is safe!"

Will you follow Ray and see? Curiosity is what lures the fleetest deer to death, and a more dangerous path than that which Ray has taken one rarely follows. Will you try it, reader?--just you and I? Come on, then.

We'll see what our Kentucky boy "got in the draw," as he would put it.

Ray's footfall is soft as a kitten's as he creeps out upon the prairie; Dandy stepping gingerly after him, wondering but obedient. For over a hundred yards he goes, until both up- and down-stream he can almost see the faint fires of the Indians in the timber. Farther out he can hear hoof-beats and voices, so he edges along westward until he comes suddenly to a depression, a little winding "cooley" across the prairie, through which in the early spring the snows are carried off from some ravine among the bluffs. Into this he noiselessly feels his way and Dandy follows. He creeps along to his left and finds that its general course is from the southwest. He knows well that the best way to watch for objects in the darkness is to lie flat on low ground so that everything approaching may be thrown against the sky. His plainscraft tells him that by keeping in the water-course he will be less apt to be seen, but will surely come across some lurking Indians. That he expects. The thing is to get as far through them as possible before being seen or heard, then mount and away. After another two minutes'

creeping he peers over the western bank. Now the fires up-stream can be seen in the timber, and dim, shadowy forms pa.s.s and repa.s.s. Then close at hand come voices and hoof-beats. Dandy p.r.i.c.ks up his ears and wants to neigh, but Ray grips his nostrils like a vice, and Dandy desists. At rapid lope, within twenty yards, a party of half a dozen warriors go bounding past on their way down the valley, and no sooner have they crossed the gulley than he rises and rapidly pushes on up the dry sandy bed. Thank heaven! there are no stones. A minute more and he is crawling again, for the hoof-beats no longer drown the faint sound of Dandy's movements. A few seconds more and right in front of him, not a stone's throw away, he hears the deep tones of Indian voices in conversation.

Whoever they may be they are in the "cooley" and watching the prairie.

They can see nothing of him, nor he of them. Pa.s.s them in the ten-foot-wide ravine he cannot. He must go back a short distance, make a sweep to the east so as not to go between those watchers and the guiding fires, then trust to luck. Turning stealthily he brings Dandy around, leads back down the ravine for some thirty yards, then turns to his horse, pats him gently one minute, "Do your prettiest for your colors, my boy," he whispers; springs lightly, noiselessly to his back, and at cautious walk comes up on the level prairie, with the timber behind him three hundred yards away. Southward he can see the dim outline of the bluffs. Westward--once that little _arroya_ is crossed, he knows the prairie to be level and unimpeded, fit for a race; but he needs to make a _detour_ to pa.s.s the Indians guarding it, get way beyond them, cross it to the west far behind them, and then look out for stray parties.

Dandy ambles lightly along, eager for fun and little appreciating the danger. Ray bends down on his neck, intent with eye and ear. He feels that he has got well out east of the Indian picket unchallenged, when suddenly voices and hoofs come bounding up the valley from below. He must cross their front, reach the ravine before them, and strike the prairie beyond. "Go, Dandy!" he mutters with gentle pressure of leg, and the sorrel bounds lightly away, circling southwestward under the guiding rein. Another minute and he is at the _arroya_ and cautiously descending, then scrambling up the west bank, and then from the darkness comes savage challenge, a sputter of pony hoofs. Ray bends low and gives Dandy one vigorous prod with the spur, and with muttered prayer and clinched teeth and fists he leaps into the wildest race for his life.

Bang! bang! go two shots close behind him. Crack! goes his pistol at a dusky form closing in on his right. Then come yells, shots, the uproar of hoofs, the distant cheer and charge at camp, a breathless dash for and close along under the bluffs where his form is best concealed, a whirl to the left into the first ravine that shows itself, and despite shots and shouts and nimble ponies and vengeful foes, the Sanford colors are riding far to the front, and all the racers of the reservations cannot overhaul them.

CHAPTER XV.

RESCUE AT DAWN.

The short July night wears rapidly away in the high lat.i.tudes of the Northwest. It is barely dark at nine, and in six hours

"Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, Comes furrowing all the Orient into gold."

Yet the night wears wearily, watchfully away in the bivouac down among the cottonwoods south of the Black Hills. Exhausted with the excitement and fatigue of the day, some few men sleep fitfully at times, and other few doze once in a while among the watchers. All the livelong night there is jubilee among the Indians above and below. They keep up their howlings and war-dances in prospective triumph, for, so far as they can learn, they have done no more damage to the soldiers than the killing of a few horses and the wounding of some half a dozen men. Their own loss has been greater than that, and there is mourning for some of the braves slain in the combat of the day. They know that escape is impossible to the soldiers. They feel that with another day they can wear out the besieged; tempt them into firing off their ammunition, and, if they can only keep off their friends,--the regiment,--they have them sure.

All the same it is pleasing to Indian ideas of humor to keep up a delusion among the besieged of having captured their messenger. _We_ know Ray is safely off, but Wayne and his men have no such comfort, for, for hours the Indians shout their taunts of "Catch white soger; eat 'um heart," and in their deep anxieties many of the men seem ready to believe it. To tell the truth, Wayne has hard work keeping up the pluck and spirits of some of the men, and towards morning the sufferings of the wounded are more than he can bear. Every little while the roystering Indians send a rattling fusillade in among the timbers, but do no great damage beyond making people uncomfortable. Some of them crawl close to the lines of sentries, but find nothing to encourage further inspection or advance. But Dana begs to be lifted in his blanket and carried some distance up-stream, where he can lie on the sand and get away from the sound of others' suffering, and Wayne and Hunter, with two or three men, bear him thither, and there, under the starlight and the waning moon, they lie at full length and softly talk over the situation. There is no disguising the truth. Their condition is most precarious: hemmed in on every side; ammunition almost gone, thanks to the reckless extravagance of the men in twelve hours' fighting, their only hope lies in Ray's reaching the --th that night and "routing out" the whole command for a dash to the rescue. They never dreamed, poor fellows, that Ray would never find the --th where they left it. All hope would have died had they known their comrades had gone.

Yet that very circ.u.mstance stands at this moment in their favor. The Cheyennes had learned with huge delight that the strange soldiers had marched off westward, apparently abandoning that watch near the reservations, and leaving it safe for them to scurry forth with bag and baggage, with women and children, on their rush for freedom--and Sitting Bull.

Sighting this little detachment of soldiers venturing on down the valley instead of hurrying back, they had signalled all over the country calling in war-parties to their aid, and formulated their scheme to ambuscade and "corral" it at the narrows of the valley; but Ray's vigilance and plainscraft had defeated that scheme; though they had good chances yet, if they only knew where the regiment had gone. Late the previous evening it had disappeared behind a prominent headland far up a valley farther to the south, and probably had there gone into camp for the night. Late _this_ night they get the news that gives rise to vast speculation and some genuine anxiety. Runners come in who say that instead of camping there, the White Chief rode all night; turned northward soon as it was dark; crossed this very valley far above them at dawn, and where he went from there they couldn't say. They dare not follow. Was it possible the White Chief was going to beat them at their own tactics? Could it be that he was going to head them off? Attack them in the early morning far to the northwest? Lying on the ground, the officers heard many hoof-beats dying away in the distance, and wondered what it might mean. It meant that some fifty of their foemen had galloped away to look for their families and the rest of the band, and warn them of the new danger. It was more than certain that no help could come to the soldiers in the valley; but they must guard their people against this mysterious move. At daybreak those left behind would resume the effort to dislodge the soldiers, and then there would be a revel.

And daybreak comes all too soon. Far to the east the stars are paling, and a grayish veil rises slowly from the horizon. One by one the night-lamps in the heavens lose their sparkle and radiance, as the filament of the dawn shrouds and stifles them. Far down the valley tumbling outlines of ridge and height are carved out in sharper relief against the lightening sky. There is a stir in the leaves o'erhead and the soft rustle of the morning breeze. Presently the pallid veil at the east takes on a purplish blush, that is changing every instant to a ruddier hue. Faces are beginning to be dimly visible in the groups of defenders, pinched and drawn and cold in the nipping air, and Wayne notes with a half sob how blue poor Dana's lips are. The boy's thoughts are far away. Is he wandering? Is it fever already?

His eyes are closed, and he whispered to himself but a moment ago.

Hunter is taking a cat-nap. Wayne is too anxious, too unhappy to sleep, and his wound is stiff and painful. A veteran first sergeant comes creeping up to them for orders, and they are brief enough:

"Don't let the men waste a shot. It's our only hope of holding out until help can come. They'll be on us again soon as it is fairly light."

"Captain," whispers Dana, "have you been awake all the time?"

"Yes, lad. Why?"

"Have you heard nothing,--no signal?"

"Nothing; not a sound. Why do you ask?"

"I'm afraid I've been only dreaming; yet I thought, I surely thought a while ago I heard a trumpet-call,--far away--far out on the prairie."

"Which way, Dana?"

"Off to the southwest. I didn't like to speak of it, but I thought I heard it twice."

"If Ray got through all right that's where the --th should be coming from. It may be, Dana. It may be, for they'd lose no time, though Ray thought six would be the earliest hour at which he could fetch them even at a trot. It's only about three now, or a little after. I'll put men on watch and have them listen. Go and bring the trumpeter to me," he said, to one of the men.

The light grows broader every moment. Already forms can be dimly distinguished up and down the stream-bed, and mounted Indians darting about out on the prairie. A sergeant comes up to the group of officers with quiet salute:

"Those fellows up-stream are getting ready, captain. Several of them mounted a few minutes ago and rode away rapidly towards the southwest. I saw others out on the prairie heading over to the bluffs. They seemed excited-like, and looked to be in full fighting trim."

Dana's eyes light with eager hope.

"Captain, they heard what I did. Some of our fellows _are_ off there, taking short cut across country to find us, and are signalling with their trumpets. Let us go farther out,--to the prairie. I'm sure I heard it, and we can answer."

Almost broad daylight now, though it is long before sun-up, but in very short time Wayne, Dana, and the trumpeter are crouching just at the edge of the timber, listening, listening, while a prayer goes up with every heart-beat.

At last Dana's weakness tells upon him. He sinks down at the bottom of a tree exhausted, but his ears are still alert. Suddenly he springs again to his knee. "There! for G.o.d's sake listen. What is that?"

And far, far out to the southwest, far beyond the line of bluffs, there rises upon the still morning air soft, clear, floating, and oh! sweeter than the harmonies of seraphs, the quick, joyous notes of officer's call. Oh, heaven! was ever reveille so blessed?

"Up with you, Rheinhart! Answer them! Blow your whole soul into it, but make 'em hear!" shouts Wayne; and the burly young Prussian rolls over on his back, braces his copper clarion at his lips, and rouses the echoes of the valley with the ringing, jubilant, pealing reply. None of the dolorous business of Roland at Roncesvalles about Rheinhart's performance this time! It is like the bugle-horn of Roderick vich Alpine Dhu,--

"One blast were worth a thousand men."

From rifle-pit and stunted log, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, the timber leaps into life and rings with the triumphant cheers of the besieged.

"Down with you, you idiots! back to your holes!" yell the officers, none too soon, for with vengeful howls every Indian in the valley seems at the instant to open fire, and once more the little command is encircled by the cordon of savage sharpshooters. Holding their own fire except where some rabid young foeman too daringly exposes himself, the men wait and listen. Little by little the fury of the attack draws away, and only scattering shots annoy them. They can see, though, that already many Indians are mounting and scurrying off to the north side of the valley, though plenty remain in the timber to keep vigilant watch over their every move. Hunter begs permission to mount and move out with twenty men to guide the rescuers, but there is no ammunition to warrant it. All men are needed just where they are. Scattering shots keep coming in; the yells of the Indians still continue; the trumpeter raises a l.u.s.ty blast from time to time, but officers and men are again all eagerly listening.

"They're coming! they're coming!" is next the cry, for distant shots are heard, then the thunder of hoofs, the shouts and yells of excited Indians; then warrior after warrior comes darting back over the bluffs at the south, springing from his pony at the crest, as though for one more shot at rapidly-advancing foe; more shots and yells; a trumpet-blare, and then,--then ringing like clarion over the turmoil of the fight,--echoing far across the still valley, the sound of a glorious voice shouting the well-known words of command, "Left--front--into line--_gallop_!" And Dana can hold in no longer. Almost sobbing, he cries aloud,--

"Jack Truscott, by all that's glorious! I'd know the voice among a million!"

Who in the --th would not? Who in the old regiment had not leaped at its summons time and again? Who that was there will ever forget the scene,--the welcome those wellnigh hopeless fellows give it now? Dana's men break from their cover, and cheering madly, go dashing through the timber towards their persecutors of the day before. Hunter's skirmishers push eastward through the trees for one more crack at the besiegers.

Others--cheering too, yet spell-bound--cling to the spot, and go wild with joy as the long blue line comes flashing into view across the bluffs from the south, the just rising sun flaming at their crests and tinting the wild war-bonnets of the foe, who go tumbling and scurrying away before them; and their old adjutant comes thundering down the slopes with ninety splendid troopers at his heels, sweeping the valley of their late humiliation,--riding home to the rescue.

Fired by the sight, some of Wayne's men seize their saddles and throw them on their excited steeds, but before they can mount Truscott's men are whirling up and down the valley, driving the few remaining warriors to the other side, and leaving some wounded ponies and two bedizened braves p.r.o.ne upon the prairies. Quickly the leader comes darting through the timber with hearty, yet laughing, greeting for Wayne, and a wave of the hand to the cheering group. There is no time for compliments now.

Out go the skirmishers across the river bottom, through the trees, and spinning away across the valley northward, whirling the Cheyennes before them until they are driven to the bluffs. Then, as the "halt" is sounded, and the vigilant line forms big semicircle to ward off further attack, and the little pack-mules with their escort come ambling briskly in from the south, Jack Truscott comes quietly back, lining his broad-brimmed scouting-hat and wiping the sweat from his brow; and as they throng about him--officers and men--almost the first question asked is,--

"And where is Ray?"

"Safe, but badly wounded."

And then little by little the story was told. But for Ray no rescue could have come. The regiment was miles away across country. Truscott's squadron had reached their late camp the previous evening to find them gone. There was a stockade there, where, with underground defences and stout palings, a little company of infantry stood guard over a lot of ammunition and supplies. They found there the sick and two wounded of the regiment, a doctor and some scouts who had backed out of going, and they also found a letter to Truscott from the colonel commanding, telling him that Wayne ought to be somewhere west of him up the next valley, to push on and join him, and then together they would be strong enough to ride through the Cheyenne trails and find the regiment.

Fearing that Wayne would get too far up the valley, Truscott decided to make a night march due north and strike it some distance up-stream. From four P.M. until eleven they had rested, then had coffee, fed the horses, and started. Somewhere about one o'clock through the dim light of the waning moon they caught sight of a mounted man rapidly nearing them from the east, and heard the whinny of a horse. That was enough to prove 'twas no Indian. Who could it be? One or two flankers galloped to meet him, and the next thing a sergeant came rushing to Truscott at the head of column.

"My G.o.d! captain, it's Loot'nant Ray, an' he's most dead."